Visions in Death (In Death #19)(56)

"Close enough."

"Okay, but Celina didn't choose. She didn't decide, hey, I want to be a psychic, that'd be frosty. But she took what was laid on her and made her life work with it."

" Gottarespect that." Eve gave a brief glance at the sidewalk sleeper with his grimy license hung around his neck who was happily posing for tourists.

"Now, this comes along," Peabody added. "And I think one of her biggest fears is that this new deal isn't a one-shot. That she's afraid murder is going to be something she sees, even after this one's over. It's weighty."

"That must've been some puke session."

Peabody snorted out a laugh. "Gold-metal status. But what I'm saying is she's trying, and it's costing her. She may help us, but in the end, it's our job, not hers."

"Agreed." Eve stopped outside the craft shop. "Using sensitives is problematic under the best of circumstances—the best being the sensitive is cop-trained and elects to be part of the investigative team. We've got neither of those things in this case. But she's linked into this, locked in. So none of us has a choice. We'll use her, ask the questions, follow up on her visions. And you hold her head when she barfs."

She reached for the door, stopped. "Why New York, Peabody?"

"Big, bad city. Hey, you want to be a crime fighter, you want to fight big, bad crime."

"Lots of big, bad cities out there."

"None of them is New York."

Thoughtfully, Eve studied the traffic jammed on the streets. Horns blasted in arrogant defiance of city ordinances. On the corner, a glide-cart vender shouted out colorful insults to the retreating back of a customer who'd obviously annoyed him.

"You got that right."

———«»——————«»——————«»———

"Well. Well. This is a very unusual request."

The store manager dithered in her tiny office where the single chair was covered in what looked to Eve to be a lot of scraps stuck together in a pattern that worshipped some demanding and possibly psychotic god of color.

She was a fortyish woman with apple cheeks and a constant smile. She continued to use it even as she stood wringing her hands together and looking confused.

"You do keep a customer list, Ms. Chancy?"

"Well, of course. Of course, we do. Most of our clientele repeat, and they appreciate being notified of specials and sales and events. Why, just last week we had—"

"Ms. Chancy? We just want the list."

"Yes. Well, yes. Lieutenant, is it?"

"It sure is."

"You see, I've never had a request of this nature, and I'm unsure how to proceed."

"Let me help you out with that. You give us the list, and we say thank you for your cooperation."

"But our customers. They may object. If they feel I've, somehow, infringed on their privacy, they may object, you see. And shop elsewhere."

It wasn't difficult in the confined space, for Peabody to nudge Eve. "We can assure you of our discretion, Ms. Chancy," she said. "This is a very serious matter we're investigating, and we need your help. But there's no reason for us to reveal to any of your customers how we obtained their name."

"Oh, I see. I see."

But she continued to stand, biting her smiling lip.

"What a beautiful quilt chair." Peabody ran her hand over it. "Is this your work?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. I'm particularly proud of it."

"I can see why. It's exceptional work."

"Thank you! Do you quilt?"

"A little. I do a little of this, a little of that. I'm hoping to make more time for my handwork in the future, especially since I'm moving to a new apartment shortly. I'd like to have it reflect my interests."

"Well, of course," Ms. Chancy said, enthusiastically.

"I noticed how well supplied and how organized your shop is. I'll certainly be back, in an unofficial capacity, as soon as I've settled into my new place."

"Wonderful! Let me give you our store information. We hold classes, you know, and have monthly clubs for any interest." She plucked a disc out of a box covered with fabric daisies.

"Great."

"You know, Lieutenant, handcrafting not only gives you the opportunity to create beautiful things that reflect your own style and personality while honoring centuries of traditions, but is very therapeutic. I imagine anyone in your line of work needs to be able to relax and cleanse the soul."

"Right." Peabody swallowed the tickle of laughter at her field promotion by the shopkeeper. "I couldn't agree more. I have a number of friends and associates who could use the same."

"Really?"

"If we could have your customer list, Ms. Chancy." Peabody gave her a bright, toothy smile. "We'd very much appreciate your cooperation, and your support of the NYPSD."

"Oh. Hmm. When you put it that way." She cleared her throat. "But you'll be discreet?"

Peabody kept the smile plastered on her face. "Absolutely."

"I'll just make you a copy."